


Day 4: Books

by Blackarrow_bagels1



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Child Abuse, Verbal Abuse, i really love when Bruce is a Good Dad but in this he's explicitly an Abusive One
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:28:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26270407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blackarrow_bagels1/pseuds/Blackarrow_bagels1
Summary: After Bruce is an Abusive Dad, Tim is sad. Jason tries to take his brother's mind off it, for a little while.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 56
Collections: One Word Week (FSG Theme Week)





	Day 4: Books

**Author's Note:**

> oooooooooo im not proud of this one, folks. I meant to write a lot more but I get so depressed when I write Bad Dad Bruce that I couldn't motivate myself to finish this. Read at your own risk

The ride back to the cave was awful. They boys were all packed into the car, while Bruce drove back. His hands were gripped tight around the steering wheel, and Tim was sure that underneath the black gloves Bruce’s bloody knuckles were white with tension. Dick sat in the front seat, staring straight ahead. The atmosphere was insufferable, and not even Nightwing dare break it. Tim was holding his breath, nursing a broken arm and staring out the window. He refused to make eye contact with anyone in particular, instead watching the buildings move by at lethal speeds. His arm throbbed with the usual pain a broken bone sang with, but he ignored it.

Bruce didn’t ignore it, though. The second they pulled into the cave, Nightwing ditched the car, dodging the usual post mission “I’m Disappointed in you” speech. He’d spent all day preoccupied with Damian, and since Robin had been benched, Dick just wasn’t the same. Tonight he was distant, but at least he could do his job. Tim however- well, Bruce was about to explain it in perfect detail.

“I’m disappointed in you,” Batman started, opening the car door but remaining in the car. He was looking at Tim through the rearview mirror, voice gruff and hostile. He didn’t sound very disappointed. “Look at me when I’m talking to you,” he snapped, and Tim’s eyes immediately met his father’s. The domino mask covered it, but his blue eyes were drowning in their own guilt and shame.

“What did I tell you today?” Bruce asked, taking the cowl off. Oh shit, this was a serious talk. When he struck this tone with Dick, a shouting match was on the way. When he struck this tone with Jason, the younger vigilante usually skipped town for a few days. Bruce didn’t strike this tone with Tim often, but Tim remembered every time he did.

Tim swallowed. He remembered perfectly, but thinking about something and saying it were drastically different. Today was a strange day, in hindsight. Tim didn’t remember waking up- in fact, he didn’t remember most of the day. He’d been reading a book when Bruce called him down to the cave. The whole family was talking about the mission, except Damian. Robin had been grounded for the week, confined to the house day and night. Tim was a last minute replacement. A replacement for Damian, who’d replaced him three years ago as Robin. A replacement for Jason, who was Robin about ten years ago. A replacement was all Tim ever was.

“Don’t move until you give the signal,” Tim responded through gritted teeth. His arm was throbbing, but the pain was dulled by the oncoming dread. Briefly, TIm wondered what would happen next. Bruce would raise his voice. Tim could match his intensity, like Dick would’ve. He could take the high ground and leave, like Jason would’ve. He could even try to argue back, in a smaller voice, like Damian had started. Of course, that’s what earned him his jail sentence this week.

“And what did you do?” Bruce asked. He was on the edge. Whatever Tim said next, it would cause his dad to shout. Jason had left the car when Tim was lost in thought, but he remained in the cave. In fact, Tim could see a good portion of his family in the cave right now. No one was looking, but he could feel their ears straining to hear him get chewed out. He had, afterall, ruined the mission tonight.

“Moved before the signal,” Tim sighed, resigned to his fate. He prepared himself for the shouting, preemptively wincing. Here it comes.

“WHY,” Bruce started, slamming a fist on the dashboard, “DID YOU DO THAT. YOU ALLOWED NYGMA TO ESCAPE. YOU ENDANGERED CITIZENS! YOU COULD’VE GOTTEN ME KILLED! YOU-” It was around this point that Tim started to tune him out. He was well aware of what went wrong tonight- everyone was. He thought he saw the signal before Bruce made it, and everything went downhill from there. His broken arm continued to cry, shock beginning to wear off. He was sure it was bleeding, and Alfred would want to see it, but against all logic he sat still. He was still staring at the rear view mirror, his domino mask hiding how his eyes had glazed over. The world was too loud.

Something snapped him back to the real world. It was pain- a sharp, stinging pain, heat moving up his arm and into his shoulder. It was blinding. Looking down quickly, Tim saw Batman’s gloved hand wrapped around his broken forearm, cutting off the already damaged circulation. He wanted to scream in agony, beg for him to stop, plead for this to finally end, but he was silent. Bruce was still yelling. He was a failure. He had single handedly ruined months of planning in less than five minutes. There were nastier words included, but Tim tried to tune them out. Bruce was mad right now. He was too emotional to think about what he was saying. He’d apologize for being so aggressive, later. It was always later. Always after he’d said at least three things that crossed the line.

“If I knew that’s how you’d act under pressure, I would’ve never taken you under my wing.”

The heat from his arm was mostly dissipated, but it still hurt more than it had any right to. In his anger, Bruce was squeezing the already broken limb as tightly as possible. Batman’s grip would leave bruises, Tim was sure of it, maybe even worse. His eyes started to sting. He’d start crying any moment now. He had to get out.

“Jack was right. I should’ve just abandoned you to your citizen life because you clearly can’t handle being-”

Wordlessly, Tim inched forward. He was in position. In his anger, Bruce hadn’t noticed his son slowly getting a better stance on the ground, his feet firmly planted on the batmobile’s smooth floor. 

“No wonder all your friends died.” There it was. The final breaking point. Bruce opened his mouth to say more, but Tim was already in motion. He jabbed a hand right at his dad’s exposed throat, wrenching his broken arm from Batman’s grasp. While Bruce struggled to breathe, Tim slipped out of the car, running for the stairs. By now, everyone was staring. At the top of the stairs, he passed Damian. The twerp looked confused, but didn’t say anything. Dick was standing behind him, eyes politely averted. Oh god- they both heard the whole thing. Tim continued running. He rounded a few corners, blind with panic and rage and fear and pain. His room wasn’t far from here. 

Later that night, he could sneak to the cave and put his suit away. Later that night, he could wash the blood out of the sleeve. Later that night, he could talk to Alfred about his arm. Later that night he could sneak out of the manor altogether. Later that night Bruce would mutter an apology to his closed door, believing he was clearing the air between them. Later that night, his brothers would avoid him, trying to forget what happened.

That could all happen later. Right now, he laid on the bed, curled into the fetal position, and closed his eyes. Hot tears streamed out, carving straight lines across his cheeks. He was shaking, but he wasn’t sure why- the pain in his throbbing arm or the damage Bruce’s speech inflicted. Eitherway, he was hurt.  
\--

He hadn’t checked the time when he ran to his room. It was late, at least 3 in the morning. The sun was still down, but for Gotham, that meant nothing. Blearily, he checked the time. It was at least 6 in the morning. He wasn’t sure what woke him, but looked around nonetheless. His arm had started to swell, and at some point it went numb. He could see the evidence of burst blood vessels, along with a large area of bruising. The broken bone inside twisted it into a weird, bloated shape.

“You’re reading the book I gave you,” a voice joked. It was Jason. In Tim’s room. Tim’s eyes immediately narrowed as he tried to locate his brother in the darkness. Sure enough, Jason was by the door. That must’ve been what took Tim out of his state- the paranoia Bruce has instilled in all his children. Tim processed the words slower than usual, thinking about each one. He was still groggy from the pain, and the night, and the mission, and-

“Any thoughts, so far?” Jason asked, getting closer. He inspected the book itself. It was old, pages almost yellow from repeated use. They were soft, and the spine was so broken the title was almost illegible. The cover was in better condition, however. Large, blue letters spelled “MARY SHELLEY” across the top, and red letters on the bottom spelled “FRANKENSTEIN.” Sandwiched between the words was a simple image. A single boat, alone, in a vast landscape of ice. The boat seemed to be stuck, trapped in frigid hell.

“It’s uh, slow,” Tim started. He wasn’t sure what this was about. Jason never wanted to talk to him, unless it was a family plan to piss off Bruce. While there was no active feud between them, Jason still resented Tim for being Robin after him. It was tradition, around here. Dick resented Jason, Jason resented Tim, and Tim resented Damian. Of course, Dick hadn’t tried to kill Jason, and Tim hadn’t tried to kill Damian (although he did daydream about it).

Jason looked at Tim expectantly. Tim took off the domino mask, and shook his head. It was hard to think at this hour. Tim grabbed the book, taking off his gloves to hold the soft paper in his hands. It was warm, clearly held and read often. Jason sometimes quoted it- of course he loved it.

“I wish the main character would grow more,” he started. He was almost at the end of the novel, his bookmark sticking out near the back cover. “He’s so…. Repressed.” Tim continued. Jason laughed to himself, before walking closer. Tim was sitting upright now, legs hanging off the side of the bed. One look in Jason’s eyes, and they both knew.

Jason sat down on the bed, next to his brother. “He’s more than just repressed, Timmy,” Jason started, stifling a yawn. “Of course, that’s his fault. Anyone could see he’s in the wrong, that he expects the impossible and then gets angry when it doesn’t happen. Anyone but him.”

Tim remained silent. He knew what Jason was referring to. He wanted to protest, but the words were stuck in his throat. Stuck around his arm, more precisely. He remembered the moment, being jerked from blissful dissociation by a blinding heat he’d only felt when he was tortured. “Anyone can see it,” Tim repeated, staring at the book. He was still shaking.

“Anyone, but the monster,” Jason amended. His tone was softer, as if he was talking to a hostage. Tim wanted to melt into that tone, to enjoy the comfort it promised- but he didn’t. His dad’s words were still swimming in his head, his arm still throbbed, and the idea of trusting anything seemed too risky. “Unfortunately for Dr. Frankenstein,” Jason continued, “The only two people in the whole book who deserve help are too stupid and blinded by fear to get it.” Ok. This was too obvious.

“Jason,” Tim interrupted, flatly. Jason looked at his brother innocently, feigning complete confusion. “It’s not helping,” Tim responded, meeting that stupid face with total indifference. It was true- this was not helping. Jason leaned back against the bed, staring at the ceiling. He sighed dramatically, and threw a hand over his forehead. 

“I try to comfort my baby brother and all I receive is hate,” he complained. Tim rolled his eyes, and laid back. For a quiet moment, the two just stared at the ceiling. It was completely smooth. Not a single bump. Perfect. Unlike Tim, who had managed to screw up the whole mission that night and prove that Dick was right to take him off the role of Robin and Bruce was right to reject him years ago and Jack-

“Did B ever tell you about that time I accidentally added cocaine to a waffle, thinking it was sugar?” Jason’s question coaxed Tim out of his negative thoughts. He had not, in fact, heard this story. 

“Don’t lie to make me feel better.” Tim warned, his voice tight. The last thing he needed was sympathy from the guy who tried to kill him repeatedly. If he wanted that, he’d start being nice to Damian.

“I’m not lying!” Jason protested, lifting his arms in surrender. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I’d seen cocaine before, but that night-” Jason interrupted himself with his own laughter. “That night I just wanted to do something nice for Bruce. So I got up early and made waffles with Alfred, and took them down to the cave. And he ate them-” Jason had to pause for longer, laughing too hard to continue. “He was so hungry he didn’t realize it was coke until he ate it all!” Jason was shaking the whole bed now. Tim chuckled at first, but quickly broke down. He was laughing fully, imagining what a younger Bruce would’ve looked like after eating that. His good arm gripped his stomach in pain from laughing so hard after a long night.

By the time they stopped laughing, Jason was already smiling with another memory. “Did you ever, when you were Robin, did you ever-” he was already laughing again. Tim giggled in anticipation, giddy from sleep deprivation and the laughing high he’d hit a few seconds ago. Jason cleared his throat and tried again. “Did you ever climb inside the dinosaur’s mouth?” he asked. Tim shook his head no. There was a rule against that, when was Robin. He always thought that was Dick’s fault, but now…

“I did!” Jason cackled. “I managed to tip the whole thing over. And then I blamed it on Dick!” The two were laughing again, wheezing with effort. Jason told a few more stories: how he’d once switched Alfred’s tea and Bruce’s coffee, how he made Riddler cry by finding a loophole in one of his riddles, and that time he spent a day painting dicks on batman and nightwing’s suits with glow in the dark paint. Each story further broke the two, who were crying by the end of the night. Tim’s eyes were dry, and Jason’s stomach ached from the pain. Tim told a few stories of his own- the time he set fire to the kitchen and his parents didn’t notice for a month, the time he caught hypothermia trying to take a photo of batman- and the photo was BLURRY.

The sun started to peak in through the window. Tim wasn’t sure what time it was, but he was aware of his arm. It throbbed dully, the broken bone and undiagnosed damage demanding attention. He ignored it, basking in the moment next to Jason. All too quickly, something knocked at the door.

“Tim?” Bruce’s voice asked from the other side. Jason shot a protective look towards his brother. Tim was feeling better, but he wasn’t ready to deal with Bruce just yet. Jason nodded, understanding his brother’s face all too well. He stomped towards the door, and opened it a crack. Bruised tried to argue, but Jason pushed him away. In under a minute- the same amount of time it took Tim to fuck up the mission last night-

“Hey. I know that look,” Jason snapped. Tim wiped a stray tear away, and looked at his brother blankly. He was faking innocence about as well as Jason had earlier that night. “Don’t try to hide it. You’re hurt.” Tim felt the blood return to his cheeks. He was hurt. Before he could hold up his swollen arm, Jason was already sitting on the bed again, “Frankenstien” back in his hands. He held it with a practiced delicacy, the way a lioness might hold her cub. 

“Don’t even try to blame it on your arm. I heard what he said to you in there.” Tim was sure everyone in the cave did. Everyone in the house. In all of Gotham. In fact, Superman had super hearing-

“You saw an opportunity and took it. I do the same thing.” Jason tried. Tim was stunned. Did he really think that was reassuring?

“You died!” Tim objected. “You took risks and paid for them! That’s the first thing I learned to avoid. And yet, I just threw myself into a situation like an idiot and didn’t even think about the consequences and he’s right-”

Jason placed a hand on Tim’s shoulder. “You made a decision, and followed through. I,” Jason looked away. “I used to do the same thing. But I wasn’t thinking when I did it- tonight, you were thinking. You waited an hour for that stupid signal.” Jason looked back at his brother. “You have room to grow, sure,” he pushed Frankestien into Tim’s arms. “But you’re not a monster. You’re not stupid. Do me a favor.” Tim sat a little straighter, ready for whatever his task would be.

“Figure out that disobeying Batman is fun *before* you die, ok?” With that, Jason stood up, yawned, and left. The sun was fully in the sky now. Tim looked out the window one final time, the buildings no longer swaying. He laid back in bed, opened the book, and read.


End file.
